


Hairier than Cersei

by CaptainTarthister



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Body Hair, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hair Kink, Hair Positivity, Hair-pulling, Memories, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post TV Canon, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, War, gentle smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/pseuds/CaptainTarthister
Summary: In the ice he found the reason to live and fight to stay alive.





	Hairier than Cersei

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catherineflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/gifts).



> A fic requested by catherineflowers! She has a very plausible theory, about Jaime and what he likes about women. Behold, a fic was born!
> 
> *****  
> Title from the amazing catherineflowers, as well as that brilliant word: topiary!

In the long days of winter, he had called on the Seven for the end of hunger. With every plea the world turned whiter. The trees groaned from the weight of snow, branches snapping one by one before the entire thing fell, another barrier against what was left of the world except from the undead. The ground was choked with it. Ice erased what remained of dark earth and glimpses of green vegetation. There was no mistaking that the gods were mocking him.

At night winter unleashed its death roar: silent but felt, merciless and sure. What furs had been gathered from dead animals, dead soldiers before being fed to fires, had thinned and began to unravel. A parchment shield against the cold, and the scream of the wind that melded with the Night King’s growl. Bones rattling under the gathered furs, he hoped for the Stranger. Another day was just cruel. He begged, and never in his life had he begged, he thought, for the Stranger to take him. A one-handed Kingslayer, barely able lift a sword from hunger, joints screaming from the cold. What was the point of living?

Though his heart had been long locked away from his twin, away from her he was truly alone.

And afraid.

 _A one-handed man with no family needs all the help he can get_. Wind, he had thought that day, now a long time ago, as anger flared from his father’s eyes. He had refused to leave the Kingsguard, to finally become the heir of the Rock. _Is it the Rock you want or me?_ Cersei. His heart, his life was hers. It should only be hers. She was his family, his love. When he tasted her lips, buried his cock in her cunt, he was the bravest, surest. What was legacy without his twin? No family, indeed—no, he and Cersei would always be together. She promised him a dynasty from the ashes.  

The ashes grew.

His heart may have turned from Cersei but at night, in the cold, as he prayed for death, he was with her again. Proud in her beauty, mirrored by him.  His seed spilling in her mouth—losing himself in the tightness of her throat was worth her glare. Watching the sun rise from their bedchamber as she slept in his arms, for the first time in his life living the dream and eager for a servant to walk in on them.

In the night, he knelt before her. Willingly. Her subject. Her servant. Her love. Skimming his hand up her slender, ivory thigh, keeping his stump away from her unmarred skin. Pressing his face to her perfumed cunt, sighing against the soft, golden curls covering her slit. She would shake, thinking that to submit to desire was weakness, even with him. But once his tongue dipped into her folds, partaking of her inner essence that was at last truly and only his, she melted. _Melted._ On the marble floors she treaded proudly in her gleaming boots, where she cast death and reward at whim, she laid on her back and spread her legs.

Grace was the honey of her cunt in his mouth, the secret musk of her come filling his nose. Her voice tight, she demanded his submission again. And again.

The memories warmed him. He ached from her absence, their distance. Unfathomable the leagues between them. What was life without Cersei? It was a world without fire. Without light. Only longing. The cruel, ceaseless cycle of hunger. For food. For Cersei.

His heart would still open to her, he realized as his bones rattled under the furs. As he curled up next to the big body huddled under a thin layer of furs, he knew he would always forgive her.  

Won’t she forgive him too?

Above everything else, it was his most desperate wish. What was food without the heart of the woman he loved? Cersei was air.

 

*****  
The war against the undead was best forgotten. Jaime Lannister saw no use in revisiting the most difficult chapter of a life that was going to continue longer than he expected. Kingslayer and Queenslayer. One betrayal bloodied his name. The other made it into a fucking bloody song.

But to forget those long nights was to forget their gift. Betrayals should no longer stalk him. Standing by the window, bathed in the warmth of a sun from a cloudless blue sky, it was still no hardship to remember the memory of the cold. Fire gave life. But at winter’s most cruel, in the ice he found the reason to live and fight to stay alive.

He gazed at the rippling blue ocean below. Under the sun they looked like a million sapphires.

Sapphires. He turned away, at once greeted by long, thick white legs on the bed. Their sleeping owner unaware, they were curled sensuously against each other. A worn, linen shift was puddled high around muscular thighs, giving only a shadow of the pale blond muff in between.

Brienne had big feet: wider and longer than his, scarred and riddled with bumps from hard boots and sparring. Broad ankles gave steady support to her muscular legs. Curled on her side and hugging a pillow, she still looked strong yet also surprisingly delicate. _Innocent._  

Cersei in sleep never softened. She looked as sweet and as sharp awake while she dreamed of slaughter.

There was no guilt in remembering his twin. Only sadness. Not what they could have had—for too brief a moment, they had freedom. But she craved more.

Despite betrayals, he still wished for her life.

Jaime approached the bed, needing not care in lightening his steps because Brienne was a heavy sleeper. The sun embraced her: rough, straw hair looking as soft as silk, her long, strong body limned in soft lines. A glance at the hairs feathering her legs as he walked caused his knees to suddenly weaken, nearly sending him tumbling headfirst. He righted himself, chuckling.

On the bed he sat down, stump settling on skin scrawled with scars, painted with bruises, splashed with freckles. The bumps of scars where his hand used to be was enough sensation to make her stir, turning slightly on her back. A big hand with knobby knuckles pushed the hair from her eyes. Slowly, they opened, thin, pale eyelashes fluttering. She was still sleepy, but her gaze rivalled the bright sapphire of the water.

 A nudge at her shift and it was on her waist, baring more of her thighs and finally her cunt. Pale topiary of curls thick and untamed rather than gold and just barely shadowing slit.

Memories would always creep up without warning. He did struggle imagining the desire they once awakened. He never feared the cracks in this life in which the specter of his sister could slip through. Not anymore. It was different now. _He_ was different. He had given his heart to another before realizing it, somehow wrestling it from Cersei’s grip.

Stump stroking the slight rise of Brienne’s hip, he stared back at her. He could be like this for hours, maybe days. Looking in her eyes, memorizing the patterns of freckles on her face, gauging the depth of muscle her cheek had lost in a fight with a monster. She no longer turned away in shame over the scar. He loved her even more for that.

His eyes were soft watching the first bloom of pink from a pore, then the next, slowly taking over her cheeks then spreading down to her thighs. She parted them. She already knew. He made sure she knew.

His head dived between her thighs, nose taking a deep, greedy inhale of her cunt’s scent. An unnamed musk, its punch the strongest here and soft behind her ears, on her neck, between her tits. This, laced with the dried sweat from fucking, and his seed. He nuzzled the rough, springy curls, hand and stump pressing her to open some more. She did, her sigh soft, her moan breathy. He rubbed the tip of his nose against her sticky slit, nudging it to spread, to yield the plump stiff button of her clit. She curled her legs, spread them wider. He thumbed a fold open, pressed a quick kiss on the red-pink inner skin.

In the next breath, he claimed her clit.

Brienne’s arms flailed as she struggled from thrashing her legs. She grabbed at his hand, took his stump and pulled it under her shift. She rubbed it on her nipple as he drank the juices spilling from her cunt, catching each droplet. Her cunt was a feast. Quick to wet, made to be devoured.

If he had known early on. If the nights just sleeping next to her big, warm body during the coldest nights of winter had been shorter. Had there been more nights of eating out her sweet, sweet cunt. If only he had not been so hurt, so betrayed when his sister almost set The Mountain on him, he’d have more nights pounding her tight passage.

He had yelled, raged at her every time her sapphire eyes fluttered close in the harshest winter nights. Called her every insult imaginable just so she’d keep them open, stay alive. By looking in her eyes, he had survived.

He was a lucky man, to have few regrets from the war—mainly not having realized sooner the wench had claimed his heart without his knowledge. But to have loved her longer, even just a day, would mean faith, hope, after the darkness that haunted him after walking away from Cersei.

Brienne had saved him. He yelled at her to never close her eyes as the cold lulled her but she had saved him.

He pressed his face deeper against her cunt, his beard tangling with her pubic hairs. She squealed, still a sharp sound of surprise. He would laugh if his tongue wasn’t thrusting in and out her, inducing her to flood his mouth. Her shock was among the growing list of delights in having her. She was winter’s gift. War’s treasure. _His._

Her flavor, as his tongue delved deep, called to mind exotic spices from the farthest reaches of Essos. Heady, strong, bold, rich. He peered up at her, angling his head for a better glimpse because she was very hairy. She held his stump in both hands now, still under her shift. The smooth, undulating motions of her body rubbed her nipple against his scars, opened her cunt some more. Their eyes met, and he groaned. The more he pleasured her, the harder he got. His cock was desperate to tear through his linen pants.

She. First and always. _She._

He smirked at the protesting whimper she made when he suddenly raised his head. His wench was still shy in telling him what she wanted but her body did not hesitate to speak for her. He kissed her reassuringly on the thigh, a gentle brush of lips that made her coo and moan. As her hips tilted up, he cupped her cunt. She closed her eyes, spreading her legs, hips rolling. Slowly, his fingers got to work, thumb rotating her clit, and two fingers pushing deep in her cunt and her pucker below. Three rough pumps, flesh smacking on flesh, hairs rustling, his emerald eyes nearly golden from flames as she shrieked and squirted in his hand. He was relentless. Greedy for the sweet vision of her thrash, watching her spill again and again on his hand.

Brienne’s legs fell heavily on the bed. As she caught her breath, he loosened the ties of his pants. His cock pointed right at her, and he spread her legs. He caressed them, enjoying the rustle of hairs as his hand and stump moved up and down before wrapping them around his waist. Dazed sapphire eyes stared at him and he kissed her. He had not bothered to wipe his mouth of her juices. Her lips were easy to part, inviting his tongue, her own tongue brushing his for a taste of her cunt.

Kissing, he drew her shift up. She helped him get it off. He looked at her, unembarrassed by his hunger when his eyes fell on her plump little tits, heavily freckled as her face and crowned with huge pink nipples. It was punishment to wait, so he took his cock and slipped inside her soft, slippery cunt.

She trembled under him. He was a little unsteady himself, desperate already to fuck her blind. But he just remained inside her, enjoying her cunt spread but wrapped tight around his cock. He tongued her nipples, pinched them. She was wet again, squirming. Moaning. He bit one of her nipples none too gently, to get her to shout and she did. He soothed the reddened tip with tongue, kisses, more tongue, harder kisses. The next breast he took inside his mouth. She wept his name.

She was close for another release. He was sweating from control, wanting to wring out her pleasure. He pushed her arms high over her head, keeping them there with his stump as he kissed from her wrist down to her forearm. His lips were firm as they nuzzled the soft cluster of blond hairs under her arm. She gasped, for this touch was entirely new. He swung his hips out, is cock almost pulling out of her before ramming back in, deeper this time. She roared, and he kissed her harder on the armpit, breathing deeply, enjoying the texture of her hairs on such soft, soft skin. Her scent. Gods. Her scent.

She wrenched one arm free and cradled his cheek. He knew what she wanted. Eagerly, he kissed her, combining nibbles and open-mouthed kisses. He caressed her legs. They were sweaty too, and the hairs sticky. Though wrapped in the tightness of her cunt, his cock hardened even more.

“Please,” she whispered between heated kisses. She sounded almost tearful and he knew this was already very bold of her. His wench, he though, smiling as he kissed her while drawing her legs around his neck.

After everything he had done, all the betrayals, the murders, he was still wanted. He was still someone to love.

He fucked her, her long legs between them hardly a barrier for their gazes. “Don’t close your eyes,” he pleaded. “Keep them open, Brienne. Let me look at you.”

And like those long winter nights when he feared to lose her, she did. Soft and bluer than everything else—even an ocean of sapphires.

There it was, again. The hunger. But it did not come with sharp, knife-like pain slashing at a stomach desperate for food, for any sustenance. It was a hunger for a greater unknown, of which the only concept  so far deciphered was love. He watched her, his heart twisting as the pink of her blush crossed to red, as her eyes grew brighter with desire. For him. After everything that had happened, what she knew about him, she could still love him.

He saw it in her eyes. Felt it in the strangling grip of her cunt. Heard its declaration with every rustle of their hairs, the knots that formed and grew tighter at every glide and brush of bodies that refused to be apart. She bit her lip, her throat straining from the scream she tried to swallow. He shook his head. No. After more than half his life of forced silence in pleasure fit for the gods, he would have her screams.

Brienne yelled when he suddenly pulled out of her. His cock was red and gleamed from her juices. He grabbed her, putting her on top of him. He didn’t give her time to adjust, just shoved her right down his cock. She gasped, freezing for a moment. He grabbed her by the hair to pull her head down to him, clutching her against his chest as he fucked her roughly from below. She rained whines and mewls on his shoulder.

He pressed her down as he pushed deeper, knowing this would make her scream. It did. He groaned a second after, spilling his seed in her cunt as her release continued to pour out of her. She gasped then collapsed on top him, quickly wrung out. He hugged her, loving the feel of her superior weight crushing him on the bed.

They kissed softly, tiredly. He caressed her scarred cheek, unable to tear his eyes from her homely face. He raked his teeth across her swollen lip, just to feel her quake from pleasure.

Brienne stretched out beside him, lying flat on her back. He turned on his side, a fist under his cheek. He gazed at her sweating body, her swollen nipples. He gazed the longest at the patch of darkened curls on her cunt. Never had a cunt fascinated him so. But there was no woman as hairy as Brienne. This pleased him.

He could still taste her. Wanted to taste her again. Smell her.

Hunger.

In the long days of the war against the undead, he had hungered for food, for the forgiveness of the only woman he thought he would love. Now that the rest of his days would be in the sun, his hunger was only for another. A woman beautiful in ways that could never be counted, and more beautiful with her scars and hairs.

“Mornings like this,” Brienne began, suddenly pausing. She looked at him, licking and nibbling her lips. “Could there. . .could there be. . .” She stammered, suddenly blushing. She took a deep breath. “Could there be anything more wonderful, Jaime?”

She spoke hopefully, the desire for his approval clear in her eyes.

He smiled at her, sliding his gaze from her messy hair, softening when they lingered on her eyes before continuing down her feathery legs. Then they trailed up her thighs streaked with seed before resting on her cunt.

He brushed his knuckles on her cheek.  

“You.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I owe catherineflowers a debt (not the Lannister way). She was so excited for this story that she stayed up late to read and comment! Seriously, she spoils me waaay too much! Thank you so much, dear!
> 
> A girl can get so lucky!


End file.
